


the sneezing one

by UniversalSatan, universalsatansins



Series: bones suffers for the noble cause of science [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: .... kind of, Comedy, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27429634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniversalSatan/pseuds/UniversalSatan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalsatansins/pseuds/universalsatansins
Summary: Spock is sneezing, and no one knows why. Bones, full of medical expertise, pieces together a diagnosis first. Jim... "finds out"... not long after that.based off of the funniest goddamn pubmed paper i've ever read.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: bones suffers for the noble cause of science [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931074
Comments: 16
Kudos: 124





	the sneezing one

**Author's Note:**

> i want to apologize in advance, because this kinda ends up being like Cockblocking, The Fic (but there's still plenty of content, i PROMISE, (and god is it ever self indulgent lskdjflds whoops), not to mention the fact that they're not ever really _dissatisfied_ , per se, more like... lsdkjfskld thrown off). oh, and i guess there's stuff in here that can be loosely interpreted as public, but it's not exhibitionism or anything like that: there's no non-con participation. (i.e. they're just being Like The Youths and fucking on the observation deck smh). also, you'll get a healthy dose of everything mcspirk, i just tagged spirk because it's the main one that comes thru first. last bit is relatively unedited because i was straight up ready to throw hands with google docs at that point
> 
> how did this come about, you ask? there was mention of A Phenomenon in the triumvirate server, and because there was an academic paper sent—not to mention the funniest academic paper i've ever read—my idiot ass went ham and spent way too long on this. (based on [this paper](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2625373/))
> 
> why is this on my main account, you continue to ask? because bones SUFFERS, dammit, and that deserves to be acknowledged in the series lsdkfjsdklj.

“ACHOO.”

Bones blinks at Jim, who’s leaning against the door of his office with his arms crossed, having dropped by simply to bother him.

“God bless you?” His eyes don’t leave his computer screen.

Jim laughs. “It’s a real condition — I promise.”

“As real as—  _ Is this another bit about your allergy to physicals? _ ”

The Captain only laughs harder. Bones rolls his eyes.

Because Bones was only partially listening to his friend, he never fully understood what he was talking about. Jim, as it turns out, completely forgets about the notion after that.

Thusly, it isn’t mentioned between them again.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Jim and Spock train together almost constantly. Very often, they find that their schedules align, and because Jim  _ respects  _ Spock’s…  _ strength and agility _ … he finds it  _ only logical _ for them to spar together.

Wrestling is always a favorite of Jim’s: he did a bit of it back in his youth, and a little rough and tumble ends up being rather common in some of the more adventurous away trips. Not only that, but wrestling provides the exact kind of full-body, adaptable means to vent energy that he’ll find himself craving every once in a while.

Jim is also notorious for exercising shirtless. It’s just another  _ Enterprise  _ constant, at this point.

Spock has never previously objected to this arrangement.

After a really good stretching session, Jim brings up that they haven’t wrestled in a while. Spock agrees. Jim then—with increasing bluntness—asks if they should use the rest of their training time for wrestling. Spock—with very steady repose,  _ thank you very much _ —accepts the proposal.

Which is how they find themselves rolling around all sweaty on the gym mats in the first place.

The thing about intricate and intimate sports—such as wrestling, of course—is that you’re not entirely aware of the precarious positions in which you put yourself: in the moment, you become too focused on not letting your muscles give first and finding your opponent’s weak points. In essence, you become too wrapped up in your own frustration, seeking the… the tension and relief… of… winning.

At the moment, Jim has Spock on his knees, and he’s trying to figure out how to get his shoulders on the mat to declare the win for himself. Unfortunately, Jim has also forgotten how formidable of an opponent Spock can prove to be, and the vulcan is currently proving to be about as easy to move as a brick wall. Their little grapple has lasted longer than a match usually should, but Jim isn’t one to give in so easily.

In the blink of an eye, Jim feels his balance whirl and his shoulders slap against the ground, his arms completely useless against his will to try and regain the upper ground. When he regains awareness of his surroundings, he realizes that Spock is sitting down on his torso, keeping Jim’s hips from bucking him off and his legs from kicking, and leaning over the captain to pin his wrists to the ground above his head with incredible strength.

“Guess you’ve caught me after all,” he relents, grinning madly. 

Jim can see how his own bare chest heaves with each breath, trapped with the floor against his back. A droplet of sweat trickles down his pec, the rivulet curling down and towards the ground as it follows his rib — it tickles, and he’s only more conscious of it as Spock’s gaze follows its trail. 

Spock still hasn’t said anything.

And, because Jim’s an  _ asshole _ , and it’s not the first time he’s used duty metaphors for training, he says: “You can do whatever you like with me —  _ I don’t scare that easy _ .”

Jim’s not exactly sure  _ what _ he was expecting, but he’s almost  _ positive _ he wasn’t expecting the vulcan to  _ kitten-sneeze _ .

The best part? Spock looks about as shocked as he does, as if he’d scared  _ himself _ with the action.

“I’ll admit, that wasn’t  _ exactly _ the torture I was expecting,” Jim says. There had been a small spray of spit onto his face at the assault, and he can feel his hair curling over his forehead, but when he tenses to wipe it away, he finds he’s still trapped underneath Spock’s iron grip. “ _ Damn _ , I’ve forgotten how strong you are… When was the last time we wrestled?” Jim’s face scrunches in thought. “Hmm, I think it might’ve been during your Kal-if-f—“

Spock sneezes  _ again _ .

Jim keeps his eyes squeezed shut when he can’t defend himself. “You coming down with something? Has the ship been a little too chilly lately?”

Horrified, Spock suddenly lets go and stand up abruptly, straight as a board. “I apologize, Captain: it appears I am not in my best condition.”

Sitting up, Jim rubs at his wrists. “That’s not  _ exactly _ how I’d phrase it,” he grumbles. When he looks up, he can see how Spock’s arms tense, held behind his back like he’s forcing himself to remain.

“May I be excused?”

“You don’t have to—“ Jim sighs when he sees how Spock’s shoulders draw taut. “Yes, of course; you’re dismissed.”

Spock gives a quick nod and turns tail. Jim watches him go with a furrowed brow, absently considering sending Bones his way after he’s done.

Exhaling, he cracks his neck and hops to his feet, deciding that he can still get some reps in before the next shift starts.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The phenomenon is not nearly consistent enough to be a noticeable pattern, but it still catches Jim off guard. 

Once, it’s during a game of three-dimensional chess. Tired from having to deal with a particularly difficult ambassador, Jim is lazier with his motions, sluggish in moving his pieces. Spock’s gaze is piercing, scrutinizing him for a slip in his demeanor, but every time Jim flashes him a lazy grin, those eyes flicker hastily back to the board.

It’s when they reset the board that Jim lets his fingers brush against Spock’s; for a moment, Spock tenses, his eyes blown wide, until it all snaps with a kitten-sneeze directly onto the chess board. Jim and Spock blink at each other, equally surprised at the reaction.

“ _ Ew _ ,” Jim says, scrunching his nose. “All over the board?  _ Really? _ ”

“I… apologize, Jim,” Spock replies. He’s staring at the board (rather, their hands), appalled. “I did not… expect the attack.”

It’s almost as surprising, how Jim easily laughs it off. “No one expects a sneeze, and if they do, they’re often left unsatisfied.” He sighs, staring at the remains of their last game before rubbing his eyes. “We’re both tired — maybe we should call it an early night.”

Spock relents, quietly helping Jim organize and pack up the board.

This doesn’t happen every chess game, which is why Jim is none the wiser of the phenomenon being a discrepancy of Spock’s usual disposition, but the few times Spock  _ does _ sneeze, the event generally ends up being memorable.

Perhaps the most notable of these events would include a mission that hadn’t exactly gone in the direction they had hoped, had taken a little more energy than anyone would’ve liked:

Both Bones and Jim were exhausted. One would think that there are only so many pseudo distress calls the  _ Enterprise _ could stumble upon—much less fall for—but here they were,  _ again _ , finding only  _ after _ they had beamed onto the planet that the research base had been taken over by an imitative and colonial species that had been stranded on the planet generations earlier and yearning for a means to get off. Jim—being the starship Captain—and Bones—the ship surgeon—were both spared (in an admittedly compromising position), but their security officer Ensign Smith had not been so lucky; because they had been left, bound in rope, in a sealed cave with too much time on their hands, the adrenaline spike had begun to regress and Jim was having a hard time putting aside his survivor’s guilt in favor of finding a means of escape.

“This is gonna chafe,” Bones had grumbled, maybe about ten minutes since they had been abandoned (or at least, tossed into this crevice: the one “entrance” was being well-guarded). 

At least the good doctor still had his shirt: Jim, busy staring very hard at the wall in the hopes that it would simply open up and offer him an idea on a silver platter, had completely torn his shirt into rags in an earlier scuffle, which meant the rope outlining his chest was rubbing directly against his skin. 

“D’be damn nice if they let us have a circulation ‘round here,” Bones continued, because the air had to be filled with  _ something _ , and if Jim wasn’t going to say anything, then he sure as hell would. “My fingers are already givin’ static.”

“Oh, don’t be overdramatic,” Jim murmured. His gaze combed over every inch of their cell, and while there was limited lighting, his eyes were already adjusting. Scooching up to the wall, he began to feel his way around for either some hidden exit or even a sharp edge.

“ _ I’m just sayin _ ’,” Bones used a blunt nail to scratch uselessly at the nearest section of rope he could contort himself to reach, “if I come outta this sans one finger— _ one finger, Jim! _ —then you’re signin’ off on my retirement.”

Jim sighed. “It’s not  _ that _ tight.” One of the loops of the rope around his arms snagged on something in the rock, and he grunted as he tried to use it to cut away at his bindings, but all it did was pull the stone loose, scattering into the darkness before him. “Oh,  _ for- _ “

“What’re you even doin’ over there, inchin’ like an inchworm?”

The captain tossed a glare over his shoulder. “Do  _ you _ have a better way to pass the time? I’m open to suggestions.”

“ _ Actually- _ “ Bones let himself be cut off when Jim made a sharp glare to where their guard was standing. “Just git your pretty buttocks over here, dear  _ god _ .”

Relenting, Jim inched his way back, following Bones’s gestures so that they were back to back, the doctor’s dexterous fingers bumping against his own, trying in vain to even loosen their bounds. At some point, Jim just  _ had  _ to sigh melodramatically and let his head flop back against Bones’s. 

“This is a  _ terrible  _ idea,” he bemoaned, staring up at the cavern ceiling. “I-” 

Jim was cut short when there came a sound from the other side of the cell, like rubble being brushed aside. Bones automatically tensed behind him. A dim light crept forward, slowly towards them, and—

“ _ Spo-?! _ ” Jim silenced Bones by banging his head back (seeing as his arms were rather useless at this point, all tied up in rope), and they both groaned as the dull ache reverberated throughout their skulls.

Having crawled underneath a nook that had been shadowed in the darkness and obscured by loose rock, Spock had successfully broken into their cell on his stomach, holding a dim light in his grasp. From the odd shadows that light was casting, both Bones and Jim could see that an amused eyebrow was canted. 

“Thank  _ god  _ you’re here—” Bones began to whisper with much passion before Jim was shushing him again. Spock crawled forward, wary of the opening to where the guard was standing that Jim was desperately jerking his head towards.

“Yes, for  _ God’s  _ sake, Spock,  _ won’t you hurry it up? _ ” Jim hissed, cautious of keeping his voice a low murmur. Not having a shirt was chilling him to the bone, evident by how the goosebumps rose down his arms and how his nipples perked between the loops and knots of the rope — Spock was evidently aware of this too, as his eyes were very much glued to Kirk’s chest.

“Well?” Bones grumbled. “Don’t just  _ sit  _ there!”

Spock made a move forwards, stopped, blinked, and then  _ sneezed _ .

Bones’ and Jim’s eyes flew wide open, lunging towards him as if they could somehow silence the vulcan. Spock only sneezed again.

“ _ Damn vulcan’s allergic to silence,” _ Bones groaned as Spock descended into a sneezing fit, barely able to glance up in time to see the ropes helplessly binding the doctor and the captain before sneezing.

In the end, Spock was caught too, unable to control himself in order to remain inconspicuous. It was only due to an open comm line and Scotty’s quick repair of the transporter system that let the trio escape with only a bit of rope burn. 

Nevertheless, Spock’s reaction had only been chalked up to being a weird allergy to something in the cave, even if Bones could never figure out what set him off.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“ _ Spock! _ ”

The vulcan flinches at the sound of his door swishing open.

“I did not realize you lacked an understanding of privacy in addition to your many human shortcomings, Doctor.”

Bones is grinning toothily, eyes alight with mischief. “I only use my override for medical emergencies.”

“Some warning would have been appreciated.”

The doctor skips up to his desk, rocking forward onto his toes and completely ignoring Spock’s disdain. “I  _ believe… _ I may have found the cause of your sniffles.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “An explanation would  _ also  _ be appreciated.”

“Well, first thing’s first:” he drawls, crossing his arms and mirroring his patient with a raised eyebrow, “I need you to tell me what was goin’ through that head of yours, when you sneeze.”

“Doctor, I do not think—”

“ _ Please _ , Spock: just think of it as part of the diagnosis process.”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Spock unfocuses his gaze, letting himself sift through memories.  _ When was the last time he had one of these odd sneezing fits? Why had he not bothered to search for patterns like these before? _

Ah, that’s right: the most disruptive example would have been that one mission, where the sternutation attack had reaped the most consequences.  _ What had he been thinking of, finding Doctor McCoy and Jim in—? _

Spock sneezes.

He looks about as horrified by this revelation as Bones looks delighted, grinning ear to ear. 

Unable to accept the logical conclusion, Spock shakes himself, desperately grasping for another memory.  _ Yes, wrestling with Jim… what had been going through his head then—? _

Spock sneezes  _ again _ .

“So?” Bones asks with barely restrained glee. “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

“I…” Spock starts before sneezing, seriously debating how candid a vulcan must be.

“It’s all psychology, see,” the doctor prattles on. “I just need to figure out  _ which manifestation _ you have.”

“Is a diagnosis vital for treatment?”

“What treatment?”

And so this little circle goes, where Dr. McCoy continues to be utterly and most illogically frustrating, whereas Spock does verbal acrobatics attempting to avoid any sort of acknowledgement to the cause of his sneezing fits; it all gets to a point where Spock’s room is filled with cacophony, his own subdued sneezes being echoed by the doctor’s louder and vastly more obnoxious imitations as an odd form of protest to the vulcan being stubborn.

There’s a swish of doors opening, and both of them freeze.

“Spock allergic to you too?”

Standing—in all of his naked,  _ naked  _ glory—in the door to his and Spock’s shared bathroom is Jim, with only a towel loosely slung around his waist. (Okay, so, maybe he’s not  _ entirely  _ naked, but he’s naked enough). A lock of hair is curling on his forehead, and stray droplets of water that were missed by his towel run down his shoulders and chest. Jim also has a toothbrush in his mouth, and the sound of him brushing his teeth is exposed in the otherwise silent room.

While Bones is more surprised at his friend’s sudden entrance than anything, Spock’s eyes are wide, gaping in a way that verges on being unvulcan. 

And then Spock sneezes, and all hell breaks loose.

Bones connects the dots (rather, confirms his theory) within the span of a few milliseconds, and he’s doubled over laughing, unable to contain it any longer. Spock is fully occupied trying to stop himself from sneezing, but for some reason, the tirade is persistent. Jim, confused by the scene he’s just walked into, pauses in his hygiene, blinking between his two companions.

“Something I said?” Jim mumbles.

“How did you gain access to my room?” Spock asks when he’s gained some semblance of control.

Jim shrugs. “I heard some ruckus in here, just thought I’d check. Your door was unlocked.”

Ah,  _ yes _ , that’s correct: Spock had left his bathroom door unlocked as he had been planning on cycling through his own hygiene routine once Jim had finished.  _ Unfortunately, the event seems like it will be postponed for the moment _ , Spock thinks as he marches forward and (very carefully) pushes Jim back into the bathroom (while being entirely too cognizant of exactly where his hands are pressed against his captain’s bare and warm flesh). Jim stumbles backwards, and then he’s gone once Spock pulls his arms back and the door slides closed with a whoosh.

“I never  _ did  _ get that diagnosis, Spock.”

Bones, too, is swiftly removed from the premises. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


While Jim has some rather unfortunate moments, he is also a very clever man and is not afraid to ask for what he wants — whether or not the admission itself is intentional. This time, while perhaps unconsciously intentional, the conversation change was entirely accidental.

Most interesting conversations happen within turbolifts; there’s just something about being confined in a tiny space with no means of escape for a short period of time that is so unavoidably intimate. Jim is hardly even aware of what he had been talking about: something about his last shore leave, about how he had run out of cover up to hide the marks that trailed up his neck and had to ask Bones to borrow some, about how he was sore for a week because of how rough his partner could be. 

It’s only after he jokes “I’m glad not as many foes bite while fighting, as I think I’d enjoy it a little too much,” that he hears the first sneeze from his companion. 

Blinking up to his first officer, Jim loses the train of thought about  _ something something are you chilly? _ in the exhaustion from a long shift, and ends up saying “I should count it as a blessing that you haven’t used that tactic against me yet in our wrestling matches, Spock,” instead.

Spock looks genuinely stricken, like a deer in headlights. 

“Would you… like me to?” Spock says.

Jim cocks his head to the side, hardly distracted by another sneeze that shakes Spock. “If you did, I think it’d be the death of me,” he says, because he still hasn’t processed just exactly what they are discussing.

“I see. Then perhaps it would be beneficial if I avoided doing so.”

“Oh, that’s just an expression,” Jim frowns, waving away the misunderstanding. “I just meant that you would probably win the match immediately if you marked me.”

There’s a pause, and then Spock sneezes again.

This time, Jim whirls around to face him. “You really do sneeze a lot lately, hm?” And then, jokingly: “Is it something I said?” He freezes, staring at Spock’s carefully blank (and therefore mortified) expression as he connects the dots. If possible, the vulcan’s spine straightens even further.

“Negative, Captain.”

“Oh, so… it  _ wasn’t  _ about you leaving your mark on me, then,  _ was it? _ ”

Spock’s jaw clenches and his nostrils flare, eyes twitching until he can hold his sneeze no longer. Jim only raises an eyebrow, piecing together how to test his truly absurd theory.

“Or, perhaps, about my shirtless state, or being bound in rope?” He bats his eyelashes innocently at his first officer, to which Spock resolutely refuses to acknowledge.

“ _ Captain _ ,” Spock says rather curtly, and then sneezes once. “I would like to ask you… to abstain… from testing my composure.”

Jim bites his lip, watching how Spock’s arm flexes as he squeezes the turbolift grip. “And why is that, Mr. Spock?”

“ _ Because _ ,” Spock turns his head ever so slightly and tilts it down to gaze at the captain from the corner of his eye, “I do not wish to compromise our professional relationship on the basis that I act upon certain… hypothetical situations.”

“And these…  _ hypothetical situations _ ,” Jim hums, pursing his lips. “They would perhaps— _ judging by the fact that it’s  _ our  _ professional relationship at stake _ —put a… ah, certain  _ captain? _ In a…  _ compromising  _ position?”

Spock takes a steadying breath, sneezes, and shifts in his stance. “That is correct.”

“I see.  _ Well, then! _ What if I were to say that I would be…  _ intrigued…  _ to learn more about these…  _ hypothetical situations _ of yours?”

  
  


Needless to say, they soon find themselves in a private nook on the Observation Deck commonly frequented by the more reckless ensigns aboard the ship. 

Jim is quite vocal (very,  _ very  _ vocal, as Spock is finding out) about his support for Spock’s  _ hypothetical situations _ , especially considering how he’s currently pushed up against a wall with the help of that  _ terribly  _ fascinating vulcan strength Jim has always admired. Perhaps it is due to the accumulation of tension between the two, but there’s nothing slow about their love-making: already, Jim grips desperately at a ledge above him, head tipped back against the wall with his pretty lips parted to make way for breathy moans, arms and legs shaking helplessly with exertion. Spock, on the other hand, ruts up into him with abandon, digging his fingers into the flesh of the captain’s ass to further pull the man down onto himself. He’s buried his face into the neck before him, using his mouth to—as Jim had so  _ helpfully  _ suggested at the start of their conversation—mark the skin between his teeth.

So when Jim is slumped over in Spock’s hold, panting into the vulcan’s collarbone with breathy laughs at the disbelief and euphoria of what has just transpired, he would agree that there is, indeed, something very clever about running his mouth.

  
  


* * *

  
  


A much more involved relationship between the Captain and his First Officer is quite a novelty for both parties involved, which includes all of the tiny mannerisms each person exhibits that have previously been unknown to the other. While Spock has only recently become aware of his… unfortunate tic, it is still something both he and Jim take some time getting used to.

The second time they decide to fool around, they do so with considerably less haste, really taking the time to simply bask in each other’s company as they exchange kisses on Jim’s bed. Jim takes a lazy lead, grasping Spock’s arms to pull him closer as he leans forward, somewhat guiding their lips as he explores freely. 

At first, Spock is hesitant, concentrating primarily on letting his hand creep up to claim Jim’s fingers, tracing his palm with the pads of his own fingertips. With the contact, however, the spark of Jim’s emotion is made vividly clear to Spock, as are his intentions. More than happy to comply, he’s quick to grasp at the man sitting in his lap, whirling him around (with a surprised but eager yelp from Jim) and pressing him against the headboard. 

Laying back, Jim watches with a confident hunger as Spock kisses down his neck, helping with the removal of his shirt (with as much haste as long sleeves will allow) so the vulcan can trail his lips and fingertips down Jim’s chest. He gasps softly as Spock moves, worshipping the curves on his stomach and flicking his tongue around pert nipples, content to run his fingers through Spock’s hair as he spectates.

Having felt the intention through their touch and confirmed with a lazy nod, Spock hooks his fingers around the waistband of Jim’s pants, pulling them down enough so that the captain’s arousal is freed, curving up against Jim’s stomach. 

Spock settles where he is for a moment, simply admiring the length before him. It’s thick, flushed and already leaking, and Spock marvels at his need to get his mouth around it, to stick his tongue out and taste the skin all the way up, perhaps even swirl the softer underside of his tongue around the rounded glans, gazing up at Jim through his eyelashes—

But of course, instead of realizing  _ any  _ of these scenarios, he sneezes all over the object of his fascination.

Mortified, Spock freezes, torn between wiping away the result of his salivatic spray and keeping his hands to himself; as it turns out, with how hot his cheeks grow, Spock decides the best course of action is to bury his face on Jim’s thigh.

Jim, on the other hand, finds the entire predicament absolutely hilarious, leaning back with his penis bobbing against his abdomen as he shakes with laughter. There’s one hand that’s coming down to absently wipe away the excess spit from his skin, and he’s trying to say something, but at the moment, nothing intelligible comes from his mouth before he breaks into another set of giggles.

Needless to say, even with the odd tic here or there, they easily navigate around any unforeseen obstacles, should they happen across the oddity.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Even in transit with nothing to do but watch the stars fly by, the crew must attend to their duties, poised and ready to act in the rare chance the  _ Enterprise  _ will be ambushed. These occasions also give rise to the more tedious reports that have backed up over time, having been set aside for a later date when there’s simply nothing else to do.

Jim is only a harsh captain when he needs to be; while new ensigns (really,  _ really  _ new ensigns) tremble in their uptight Starfleet standards, Jim could care less if you’re discreetly reading the latest “webcomic” update on your PADD, as long as you have your attention on your post and are ready to act within a second if necessary. Hell, he’s convinced Spock to at least once digital game of chess when an occasion like such was particularly slow.

This time, however, he’s set his mind to finishing reading through some reports he’d put off for far too long. Every once in a while, he’ll catch his eyes glazing over, skimming paragraphs without really processing anything, but he’ll just sigh and shift his position, tapping his stylus against his PADD in the futile attempt to better his concentration.

At some point, this in-vain attempt turns into Jim absently doodling in the margins of his own notes, letting his mind wander as he pleases. The steady hum of the ship is almost a little too therapeutic, and with nothing interesting happening at the moment, he… lets himself fantasize.

A presence slinks behind his chair, and though he’s not actually doing anything of import, Jim keeps his eyes trained to his page, humming in acknowledgement.

“Captain: the star chart analysis has completed.”

Jim hums again.

“At the moment, the computer is currently processing the new star chart into the system.”

Another hum. 

A hand gently rests on Jim’s shoulder, and, absently, Jim lets his own hand creep up, brushing against the fingers that curl over his uniform. At the touch, he feels a tiny spark of warmth flicker between them, and it’s only then that he glances up at Spock from the corner of his eye, an easy smile tugging at the side of his lips.

Turning back to his PADD (but leaving his hand where they rest on the other’s fingers), he resumes in his doodling, biting his lip to quell the urge to grin. Spock sighs, and then steps impossibly closer.

“It was my intention to indicate that I have been faced with a period of time in which I am currently unoccupied,” he begins, calculating the precise volume of his voice so that only Jim can make out his words. “I was required to report my progress, and I had presumed that you would have another task for me to attend.”

Behind them, Uhura has the computer reading out logs, and Lieutenant Phillips is at the helm, distracted with some beeping experiment Scotty had left in his charge. Needless to say, both Jim and Spock are isolated in their own little bubble, not of any interest whatsoever to anyone else on the bridge.

Spock leans in even closer, close enough that his lips barely hover over the shell of Jim’s ear.

“I have now come to the understanding that what you… have in mind… is a little less than professional… is that correct?”

With a sharp intake of breath, Jim nods mutely.

“I see. So, what you have in mind perhaps has something to do with giving me the bridge, but you are still seated in the chair, facing away from the screen as you roll your hips down to seek your own pleasure?”

Jim can’t help but close his eyes, picturing how Spock would look up at him with reverence, holding his waist but letting him choose the pace as Jim raises his arms, showing himself off. He’d rock back and forth, baring his neck as he takes pleasure in being admired, and slowly—gradually, teasingly—he’d let his hands trail down his chest, finding the nubs of his nipples to trace his fingers around before pinching, playing with himself as Spock sits back and watches.

“I can imagine that you would enjoy being taken here,” Spock continues, his voice dipping into a register that sends shivers down Jim’s spine. “Letting your first officer have control…  _ of the ship.” _

Biting his lip, Jim exhales shakily, feeling how his pulse creeps lower and lower, and he crosses his leg and shifts his PADD onto his lap. What would it be like, to be turned around and arched back, bouncing on the Captain’s chair as fingers dig into his waist and pull him down as far as he can go, filled to the brim? Spock would lean into the crook of Jim’s neck, panting and kissing and  _ biting  _ as Jim leans back and rides it out, curling one arm back to pull the vulcan’s head closer yet, grasping desperately at the arm of the chair with the other. The Bridge—empty save for the two of them—would be filled with the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, and Jim’s head would tip back, eyes half-lidded and rolling back as he gasps and cries out with pleasure.

“And you know, that when you return, when you next find yourself on duty, you will not be able to help but  _ remember,” _ Spock murmurs, and Jim curls his fingers where they rest on Spock’s as his head spins with  _ want. _ “Remember how you  _ begged  _ to be touched, how you  _ begged  _ me to let you— _ CHEU!” _

Jim is leaning away, palm covering his ear that rings from being directly sneezed into, heart thudding from a combination of shock and residual lust. It’s a terribly confusing state to be in, especially considering the fact that Spock’s sneeze attracted the momentary attention of the remaining Bridge crew (as a sneezing vulcan is not something one sees every day). He waves them away, assuring them it’s nothing of concern, none whatsoever, before he turns back to his first officer, who’s mortification is thinly veiled.

“You posit a very persuasive argument,” Jim tells him.

Spock nods, easing only somewhat before suddenly remembering that there is, in fact, a matter that requires his attention (about which he had previously forgotten).

* * *

  
  


The Commander general room is oftentimes relatively empty, and it is not unusual for Bones, Jim, and Spock to find the place to themselves.

Bones is fully occupied with his PADD, reading on the latest medical innovations that he had downloaded at the last Starbase, remembering to shovel another forkful of veggie cubes into his mouth every once in a while. No one else has interrupted him thus far, which means that Jim is still engrossed in his hardcover and Spock is still working on his fancy vulcan tea and probably boring report.

Right as he’s about to skim the methods for the clinical trials of yet another proteasome inhibitor, he hears a sneeze from across the table and is instantly distracted.

Glancing at Jim, Bones is expecting his friend to be staring at Spock, ready to tease the vulcan about his unfortunate tic, but instead he finds Jim staring intently at the pages of his book, a bright red dusting his cheeks.

_ Good God. _ Whatever is happening here, Bones is reluctant to find out.

Looking at Spock for perhaps a semblance of an answer, he finds himself baffled but unsatisfied, given how Spock continues to stare down at his own PADD as he sips at his tea with steady repose. If Bones has learned anything about the vulcan, he’d be tempted to say that there’s something smug in his disposition.

“I did  _ not  _ say that!”

Bones jumps in his seat, swivelling around to see that, along with having shouted that, Jim is sitting up straight on the couch, staring challengingly at Spock with his book snapped shut.

“What the  _ hell  _ are you on about, Jim?” Bones cries, lifting a hand up in exasperation. “You haven’t said  _ anything.” _

Jim continues to not say anything, much to Bones’s irritation, staring purposefully at Spock. At a glance, it seems that Spock is staring back, filling the room with a palpable tension as they continue their little staring contest. 

It’s only after Spock sneezes twice and Jim narrows his eyes that Bones realizes the two are having an entire conversation, their faces shifting minutely with the rise of an eyebrow here and the quirk of a smile there, not making a  _ damn sound _ the entire time. (The nature of their conversation also concerns Bones, as Spock has sneezed multiple times throughout this exchange, and as far as he understands, the condition can only manifest in one form per person… and Bones thought he knew which one is attributed to Spock). 

Realizing he has been sitting on his ass, staring at his friends make eyes at each other in silence for the past few minutes, Bones clears his throat. “Now will  _ someone  _ tell me what the  _ hell  _ is going on?”

Jim whips around and stares at Bones for a change, which is just a little unnerving. 

“Jim,” Spock says. “Your words.”

Blinking, Jim cocks his head. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Bones scoffs.  _ “Oh?” _

“Yeah,” Jim smiles sheepishly. “Forgot you weren’t a part of it.”

“Of  _ what? _ Your little fancy telepathy club?”

Jim waves his hand at him, like he’s  _ correcting  _ the doctor. “Our bond…  _ Vulcan thing _ …”

Bones gapes. What—  _ What? _ Both Jim and Spock look very casual about whatever Jim is saying, but Bones has about a million questions fighting to be voiced first.

“... Excuse me?” Bones says instead.

“What Jim is trying and failing to explain is the telepathic bond we share between us,” Spock pipes up calmly, teacup raised to his chin. “It is customary of bonded vulcans, and despite being of psi-null species, it appears that Jim and I are compatible.”

“... So what you’re telling me, right now,  _ at this very moment _ … is that the two of you are  _ vulcan-married?” _ Bones accuses. “And you’re only telling me this  _ now?” _

Jim pouts. “We were going to tell you."

_ “When?” _

“Once we determined our stance on where we would like you to be in our relationship,” Spock says. Bones already has his mouth open, ready to instinctively retort, but he freezes when he processes what was said.

“What he  _ means to say,” _ Jim smoothly picks up, sighing and setting his hardcover to the side as he gets up and moves to gently rest a hand on Bones’s shoulder, “is that we  _ both,” _ he glances purposefully at Spock, “love you very much, and we just… wanted to let you know— _ if you are so inclined, of course _ —that you… are  _ welcome, _ into the relationship… however you see fit.” The hand on Bones’s shoulder squeezes him lightly, as if to punctuate his point.

Dumbstruck, Bones turns to Spock, who has his eyebrows lifted and his head tilted forward in a silent approval, sipping slowly at his tea as he awaits the verdict.

In all honesty, the possibility is… not one Bones has ever considered. Objectively speaking, Jim and Spock are both aesthetically attractive, and they’re the closest friends he’s ever had… but any consideration beyond that is forced to a stop in his head, being much too overwhelmed with shock and the sense of being under a spotlight as the two people in question gaze at him expectantly.

“You don’t have to give us an answer now,” Jim finally says, clapping him on the shoulder once before leaning back against the table. “We just wanted to let you know that we want you by our side, and that no matter what you decide—or even if you change your mind—that we love you and only want what you do.”

Almost as if in response, Spock sneezes, and—blush returning to his cheeks—Jim leans over and slaps the vulcan.

Bones, now fully understanding the context, feels his face heat, staring at the floor in disbelief at the notion.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_ Curiosity killed the cat, _ Bones had thought,  _ and satisfaction better damn bring it back. _

Though, all in all, he’d say he’s relatively satisfied with his current predicament.

They had taken excellent care of him, in fact. Jim had been uncharacteristically tentative about every little thing they were doing, worrying about if Bones is  _ sure  _ and that he shouldn’t feel  _ pressured _ ... so much so that Bones eventually snapped and grumbled something about how he’d  _ tell  _ them if he so much as had a kink in his back,  _ dammit. _

After Bones let himself be a bit pushy, it was all mostly smooth-sailing from there: Bones found himself leaning against Spock’s chest, being stretched out by those long, vulcan fingers that most  _ definitely  _ have their benefits. Nonetheless, Bones made a point of complaining that Spock would make an abysmal physician for a prostate exam with those sensitive fingertips of his (and if he enjoys the teasing, the slow build as Spock drew closer and closer before drawing back again… well, it’s enough that he could feel the satisfied smirk against his shoulder when his breath hitched and he grinded down, seeking more of the sensation that had just been elicited). 

Jim, on the other hand, sat back, facing the other two from across the bed as he made a show of himself, stretching himself out until he could play with a brightly-colored toy. At first, he absently licked at the head like it was a goddamn  _ lollipop, _ staring at both Bones and Spock in turn as he licked a stripe all the way up the length and swirled his tongue around the tip. Bones and Spock watched intensely, tracing the path that Jim’s clever tongue made across the replica. Spock sneezed a few times, face buried in Bones’s neck, and Bones would be distracted enough to groan and complain about snot, and Spock made a snarky comment about how many bodily fluids they’re already exchanging, but with the way the cock twitched against the small of Bones’s back and the way Bones whimpered as fingertips finally brushed against their target, the matter was easily dropped.

Stealing the bottle of lubricant that’s rolled against Spock’s thigh, Jim slicked up the toy so that he could push it in smoothly, on his knees with his ass in the air, groaning into the sheets of the bed. Once he got used to the sensation, he’d casually move it back and forth, aiming to do nothing more but to simply work himself up.

At some point, Jim had crawled forward, exchanging lazy kisses with Bones, letting them become increasingly messier as he fell apart at the seams. Bones didn’t really mind, with how he rocked on those blessed fingers and felt open-mouthed kisses trail down his jaw, his neck, and across his collar.

_ Satisfaction will definitely bring it back, _ Bones decides. Currently, he’s lying on his side, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed with the other held up by Spock as he thrusts into Bones, careful and incredibly precise with his aim as Bones gasps and eggs him on. Jim is lying inversely to how he is, busy with teasing Bones’s cock and leaving little nips and kisses on his inner thighs, and Bones is doing his best to reciprocate, swallowing down the glans when he has a moment of coherence or simply let it hang heavy on his tongue, but he’s so overwhelmed with the stimulation that there’s little else he can do but mouth against the shaft as he cries out.

His orgasm is intense after all the buildup, and he’s barely managing to warn Jim as he tips over the edge and—

Sneezes. Immensely and impressively…  _ all over Jim’s dick.  _

Everyone has stopped moving, purely out of surprise. Spock, still erect, is still inside of Bones, and Jim has his chin pressed against his chest, trying to get a better look at Bones from where he lies. 

“Why am  _ I _ the one always being sneezed on?” Jim whines, first to break the silence.

It’s only then that Bones covers his face and groans, subjected to the realization that he—as Jim would’ve put it— _ ”dad sneezed” _ all over Jim’s erection.

“I’d forgotten,” he admits later, when they’re all lying in bed, cleaned up and drowsy. Bones had lain there in mild shame and a post-orgasmic haze as the other two finished each other off, Spock finishing inside of Jim. 

“Mm?” Jim hums. His eyes are already closed, but he currently has a vulcan and a human sprawled over his chest, seeking out the warmth that still permeates his skin from his hot shower like cats to a sunspot. His arms are wrapped around both of them, and he lazily runs his fingers through both Bones’ and Spock’s hair, brushing his fingertips down the soft skin behind their ears.

“Don’t usually have the time or energy to…” Bones waves his hand where it’s rested against Jim’s stomach, “have time to myself. Forgot that I sneeze.”

Jim grins. “How do you forget something like  _ that?” _

Bones shrugs half-heartedly. “Didn’t do it often enough to care,” he mumbles. “Not annoying as  _ Spock’s, _ anyway.”

“It’s the same thing as Spock’s?”

“Mhm. Different manifestation.”

Spock has been quiet the entire exchange, and Bones would’ve thought he had fallen asleep if not for the way he now blinks slowly at the doctor.

“You never informed me of the official diagnosis,” he says at last, staring at Bones with mild curiosity.

_ “ACHOO,” _ Bones drawls, trying to recall the details of the phenomenon off the top of his muddled head.  _ “Autosomal dominant… helio-ophthalmic outburst. _ Because the first manifestation they identified was in response to sunlight. Since then, they’ve found multiple other neurological triggers that can induce sneezing, and in response to sexual ideation and orgasm happens to be two of them.” 

Spock raises an inquisitive eyebrow, drinking in the information, and both of them consequently shut their eyes in bliss as Jim gently scratches at their scalps. 

“This is a human genetic disorder, no?” Jim muses.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Spock over here is half human, pointy ears and green-blooded or not.”

“Yes, but… you said it was autosomal dominant.”

Bones stares up at Jim… until it finally clicks.

_ “Spock—” _

Spock sighs, apparently having arrived at the same conclusion. “I… do have…  _ certain memories _ I can recall, now that I know what I am looking for, where I would… suddenly have the need to meditate in the desert with I-Chaya on the occasion I would hear my mother sneeze; I believe we have… discovered the underlying reason behind my course of action.”

Bones busies himself with muffling his laughter into Jim’s chest, and even Jim can’t help the amused smile that graces his features.

  
  


* * *

  
  


As much as being sneezed on becomes somewhat of a norm in the bedroom life of the three, they still endeavor to find solutions that allow them to circumvent situations as such. Especially considering the fact that it’s always Jim being sneezed on…  _ well, _ sometimes he just wants to change things up a bit.

This is precisely why Jim has Bones bent over before him, propped up with pillows as his fingers grasp at the sheets, scrabbling for anything to hold onto. Even with his delicate-looking figure, Bones likes not being treated like glass, and he’s smiling maniacally as pants and moans, making little challenging comments about every little thing Jim does. Jim, true to his word about having impressive stamina, fucks him into the mattress, pressing him down where he wants him so Bones can’t move. When he moves with more purpose, gradual before snapping his hips forward once again, Jim will murmur pretty things in return, leaving Bones a shaking mess beneath him. Spock—who is present, but sitting to the side due to having recently reached orgasm himself and where he’s only a sneezing danger to himself—watches the entire spectacle with fascination, lightly stroking himself, reveling in the increased sensitivity his touch brings and coaxing himself to the end of his far-shorter refractory period.

Bones is quick to reach his climax, and Jim pounds into him faster, seeking out the perfect amount of friction to tip him over the edge too. The hand on Bones’s back creeps up to his neck, ensuring that he’s pressed down and sneezing violently into the mattress as he comes; consequently, his muscles tense with the action, and Jim is rewarded with the perfect amount of pressure around his dick to have him following in orgasm not long after.

Even if the answer is drawn out begrudgingly, as they lay side-by-side and utterly spent, Jim gets Bones to agree that this is a new favorite in terms of anti-sneezed-upon methods.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Jim is very lucky that only Spock and Bones are present when it happens.

They are currently on what is merely a scouting mission on an M-class planet with no discernable sentient species, obtaining data of the life and its development from both on the ship and on the field. Chekov and Sulu ran off almost immediately, barely listening to what Jim needed to tell them before disappearing into the foliage. 

Spock—ever wary of his two companions—drifts a few meters further from the other two but keeps an eye on them nevertheless, just in case they end up stumbling towards death’s doorstep. He is content simply busying himself with his tricorder, wandering to the next nearest subject of interest as he systematically catalogues everything in his surroundings.

It’s as the tricorder is processing data that Spock just happens to be staring at Jim and Bones, who are playfully arguing about the semantics of some petty Terran-culture-based opinion when Bones—who isn’t looking where he’s going—runs face-first into a large flower-like structure with an explosion of what Spock would assume is pollen. Bones stands completely still as Jim laughs at his carelessness, brushing off any residual pollen that had landed on his uniform. Spock watches how Bones’s face scrunches, how his nose twitches in a desperate attempt to rein in the inevitable sneeze that shakes him only seconds later. He can then hear Jim poking fun at Bones for “finding a really good aphrodisiac that has him coming after one sniff” before the captain stops dead in his tracks.

Jim’s gaze—subsequently followed by both Bones’ and Spock’s—is drawn down to where the material over his crotch is beginning to tent with interest.

Bones bursts out laughing, teasing Jim in return as Jim groans and rubs his eyes, trying to shift the fabric of his uniform to hide the evidence of a growing erection. It’s not obvious yet, and it is easily hidden with all the vegetation that grows up to their waist, but his shame is evident in the way his cheeks flush bright red.

_ Well, _ Spock reasons, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement when Jim whips around to see if Spock had witnessed the event as well,  _ whatever the condition both Leonard and I are affiliated with, at least we have refrained from Pavloving ourselves into associating sneezing with sexual conduct. _

As he turns away to attend to his tricorder, barely suppressing the upwards twitches of his lips, Jim cries out with over-dramatic anguish.

**Author's Note:**

> are sneezing kinks a thing? because if so then I'm sorry if this is not what you were expecting (... unless?? it was?? then... you're welcome?? i guess??)
> 
>  ~~as if you'd even want to after this~~ but you can find me on tumblr at [jimtitkirk](https://jimtitkirk.tumblr.com/) (also: [main blog](https://universalsatan.tumblr.com/) & [writing blog](https://celestialberries.tumblr.com/))


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